


House Guest

by crowdedangels



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e12 A Good Death Is Hard to Find, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 08:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowdedangels/pseuds/crowdedangels
Summary: "Shit, I'm quite the house guest, huh?"





	House Guest

**Author's Note:**

> A first foray into the deliciously frustrating and emotional minefield that is Walt/Vic. Damn you and thank you ProfessorTennant!
> 
> Still not 100% happy with this but kinda sick of seeing it in my folder so...

She sat straight up, her heart beating furiously, arms lashing out and a smashing noise barely factoring in. Skittish eyes scanned around - this was not her place and the adrenaline was making it difficult to focus on anything other than the fact she got woken with a hand to her shoulder and she had been in a deeper sleep than she had been in months, maybe years.

“Vic.”

She blinked and forced herself to focus on the eyes looking at her softly. “Walt? Shit.” Sweat was stinging at her eyes. 

“It’s me, Vic. Just breathe.”   
  
She was still blinking sweat into her eyes and swiped at them with the heels of her hands before smoothing her fingers over her hair. Her heart was beginning to slow but her lungs burned like she’d gone from standing to a full-blown sprint. Walt. She had stept at Walt’s. Had apparently  _ really  _ slept at Walt’s because the fire was stoked, the blinds were open and,  _ shit,  _ there was a mug of coffee smashed on the floor. She’d missed it all. Usually she would have her pistol up and pointing if she so much as heard a cricket chirp.

She kicked her legs from the tangled blankets and put her feet on the floor, digging her elbows into her knees and smoothing her hands over her hair again.  _ "Shit," _ she breathed.

“Vic…”

“I’m sorry.” She flicked her eyes up to his. 

He shrugged, “It was a mug. I have more.”

She managed a small smile, heaving out a breath and bringing her feet up onto the couch, hugging her knees close to her chest. “About everything.”  _ About my ex-fuck buddy and colleague stalking me and my very presence in your home causing your girlfriend to freak and dump you.  _

He wrapped his fingers around her arm, her hand smoothing over to lie on top. “There's towels in the bathroom. You want toast or oatmeal?”

“That’s it?”

“I might have some cereal?”

“No, I mean… Lizzie…” her hand gestured towards the front door where she had stood as still as a statue while he dripped onto the hardwood floor and Lizzie whipped around them understandably but mistakenly pissed.

“You don't have to apologise.”

“She...she dumped you. ”

He stood and stepped around the broken mug and puddle, “Go shower. I'll put more coffee on.”

She swallowed and watched him grab a brush from the side of the fridge. He seemed to be taking it well and she would have almost thought he didn't hate her for it, but she hated herself too much to think that could be true. 

She pushed on his bedroom door slowly, feeling like she was intruding even though she had been given permission. 

The bed was made; dark blue sheets with his boots neat in front of it, well worn and ready to go. A Cheyenne tapestry was on the wall by a well stocked book shelf and it was…  calming to her. His aftershave - a nearly empty bottle on the dresser, the last bottle Martha had bought for him - hung heavy and peppery in the air. Something in her mind had never connected that that smell that was quintessentially  _ Walt _ was out of a bottle, and that realisation made her quickly go into the bathroom and shut the door with a muttered curse to herself. 

She emerged twenty minutes later, her wet hair in a braid and rubbing the towel at the ends. 

“Coffee incoming.”

“Ha. Ha.” She tried to bite back the smile as she took the proffered mug and handed him the towel. He had combed his hair through and his blue eyes were too soft as they raked her over face. 

His features suddenly turned dark, his mouth slack. 

“What?” She asked. 

He swallowed, “Nothing.”

“Walt…”

“You used the white bottle.”

“The whi- oh  _ fuck, _ Walt, I’m sorry.”

He could smell Martha.

He shook his head, “No, its fine. I just…”

Vic bit her lips together, her heart firmly in her stomach and guilt coursing through her veins. “I get it. Shit, I'm quite the house guest, huh?” She moved past him, placing the mug on the table and gathering up the sheets from the couch. “I get your girlfriend to leave you, smash up your house and then come out here smelling like you're dead wife. Jesus…”

He tossed the towel in the direction of the washing machine, it landing in a heap with a wet thud. “Hey,” he tugged the blanket from her hands and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Forget about Lizzie, I’ll handle that. You’re more important to me than she ever was. Your safety. So quit with this pity party because I can only take one Deputy feeling sorry for themself at a time and Branch is winning awards on that front.”

Well, she couldn’t deny that. Her lips tilted into a smirk, her shoulders losing some of their tension. 

“So, drink your coffee, have some breakfast and I’ll find my boots and we’ll go sort this Gorski guy out. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her smile morphed back into a smirk, maybe even a coquettish pout. 

His eyes sparkled with what she might call mischief before he followed her gaze to where his hands were still clutching her arms. He dropped them to his side, avoiding her eyes and pinching his lips together. They twitched into a smile.    
  


**

“Jimmy called you again,” Ruby told Walt as he leafed through his messages on the way to his office. “And Henry says they have that lunch special you like on at the Red Pony so he’ll see you at one.”

“Thanks Ruby…” he called back, trying to open his mail with one hand while he carried an evidence bag in the other.

He dropped them all on his desk and shrugged off his coat, placing his hat on the top of the stand. It was only when he turned back that he saw the elaborately wrapped gift on his desk. He sighed, his hands coming down to his hips as he wondered why Ruby hadn’t mentioned Lizzie had been by and  _ why _ Lizzie had been by at all. He had hoped her show the night before would have been the end to that. 

With a sigh, he looked around the cellophane wrapping but found no tag. He reluctantly pulled on the ribbon, the plastic wrap fell away… and he started to laugh. Tucked within was a giant mug declaring “BIGGEST PHILLY FLYERS FAN!” 

He looked up to see Vic in the doorway, a grin on her face as she spun on her heel and slid back to her desk.    
  



End file.
